“After my last post about accidental olive oil, I promised a friend I would write the story of setting my pants on fire. There was also interest in my brief mention of scissors in the fridge and milk on the counter after my Y2K party, so I’ll explain a little more about that, too.
At the end of March, I had an abdominal surgery. Just laparoscopic; I wasn’t cut open, but I did have four holes in my belly. I was given a belly binder thing, to help with pain relief. I lovingly referred to it as my girdle. who knew that it would also save me from bad burns, too?
I was putting chickpeas on to boil after soaking them over night, so my gas flame was on as high as it would go, and I was experimenting with adding fresh onion and garlic to the water to flavor the beans.
I was slicing fresh garlic directly into the pot, when I began to sniff the air, like a dog who caught a yummy scent on the breeze. Is something burning, I thought as I cut slice after slice into the water.
(I can hear all you cooks thinking, you’re supposed to mash fresh garlic, what are you doing slicing it?)
As I sniffed the air, trying to decide what was burning, I felt heat on my belly. I threw the rest of the garlic into the water, the knife onto the counter, and batted at my belly, burning my fingers in the process.
You know in books, when the protagonist tells you that time seemed to slow? That is absolutely, 100% true. Thinking back, it still seems like the whole experience took minutes, but I’m certain that the first sniff to the oh shit I’m on fire realization, only took a few seconds. Before I could think about it, I ran to the sink, flipped it on, picked up the sprayer and shot water at my belly.
After the fire was out and my fingers were only slightly prickling with pain, I inspected my pants. The drawstring had caught fire, the knot still tied, but the bow now split into four burnt strands. The embers at the end of those strands had managed to burn a whole in my shirt, as well as the pants. the only thing that saved me from a burn on my belly, was my post-surgical belly binder, my girdle, which had not a tactile mark on it. Do hospitals collaborate with NASA or something?
Lesson learned: do not cut the veggies over the pot of boiling water.
On the scissors in the fridge comment from my last post
Someone on Twitter said it sounded like one helluva party. It was a great party. I turned twenty-one the day before Y2K, so I used money I had gotten from Christmas and my birthday and stocked my dad’s fridge full of booze. I had informed him he would need to not be home as I was throwing a party. Looking back, I’m kinda surprised he was just like, okay. Um, thanks Dad?
I had taken a picture of my fridge before the party, showing off all the bottles of beer. I took pictures the next day, too. All the beer was gone, except for the case of Milwaukee’s Beast, I mean Best that someone had brought and no one drank. There, on the middle shelf, were the kitchen scissors. Across the kitchen from the fridge, the milk sat on the counter, gone warm. I don’t have any idea when or how this happened. Sighted readers, sorry but while I might still have said pictures in an old folder on my hard drive, I have no way of finding them.
I see the doctor tomorrow to get my cholesterol results, so wish me luck!
Is there a cooking and/or healthy eating question you have, or do you want more blunder-type stories? Feel free to ask in the comments or on Twitter, since a combination of the two is how this post was born. I am revamping my blog. I got bored of writing all the book posts, and while I was seeing traffic on my stat counter, I wasn’t interacting with readers. I miss those days, so talk to me!